Hell Is Cold
by Invader Bulma
Summary: Kidnapped by the man you onced relied on for much needed money, you can do nothing but withstand whatever he does- and he does plenty, unfortinatly. Dark!RussiaXReader. Rated M for a reason.


Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or it's smexy characters.

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During the Industrial Revolution…. (the mid-1800's)

I had collapsed in the snow, stuck in the middle of a dark, endless forest, soon to be a victim of hypothermia, or worse.

Thick, misty breath dissolved in the freezing air as my vitality was further sucked from my body. I felt my systems shutting down, preparing to meet an end. I was so alone, so helpless.

This was better than my previous situation though. I had been kidnapped by a madman. He tore me away from my family and brought me away into this frozen wasteland.

For those who say hell is full of burning fires, they are wrong.

Hell is cold, and the devil himself is ice.

The man, Ivan, who took me away, may as well have been the devil. He was beautiful and cruel, without mercy. But the Bible says the Lucifer was the most beautiful angel of them all. Ivan indeed fit such a description. Tall, white-faced and handsome with sharp cheekbones, pale blonde hair and violet eyes that glittered with malice worked to his advantage, hiding the part of him inside that was broken and dark.

He was like a poisonous snake. He lured me in with those beautiful markings only to turn out to be the most dangerous type of man on this earth. A man who will break you but not kill you, only to delight in your torment as you barely live on.

I had been broken. Many times. Broken and violates, toyed around with like a puppet on strings, since he knocked me out and dragged me away from civilization. My family was poor, and I had to work for money. As I was walking home one night, I caught sight of the shadowy man, standing silently. As I walked past, he stopped me and offered money. I first thought it was a sort of joke, but it wasn't of any sort. He simply gave me the money and walked off.

It continued. Every night. Eventually he began to talk to me. I told him my name and vice versa. I began to regard him as a secret friend, secret because he told me no one could know he was being so generous with his funds.

I offered him some sort of payment in return. 'We shall see,' was all he had said in his heavily Russian accented voice.

One night, a month ago, if I can recall correctly, although I've been trapped here for so long I don't know if my measurements are accurate, it happened. He wrapped an arm around me and pulled me close. When I asked him what he was doing he said he had figured out my form of payment. Then he shoved a needle like contraption into my arm filled with a drug that only the rich could afford, which sent me into a deep sleep almost immediately.

He had held me captive ever since.

Pounding footstep. There the swish-swish of some ones heavy breath in their chest and the furious panting of hunting dogs that more resembled wolves.

Fear sparks throughout my body and I scramble to get up from the thick snow bank, but to my dismay the cold has worked its way into my bones so my movements are clumsy and sluggish, with pins and needles irritation my limbs as they try to fight off the numbness.

I find my feet and hurriedly stumble only to be greeted by fierce snarling from behind.

I look and see them. Ivans mutts. Both are large, snow white, predatory beasts, and if it weren't for their master nearby I know they wouldn't hesitate to tear me limb from limb using their vicious fangs.

The larger one leaps at me and I scream. I'm knocked to the ground beneath its dense body. I crash beneath, once again lying in the snow; the dogs rank breath in my face. I whimper as it snarls and bears its teeth.

"Good boy, Claw," calls a familiar musical voice. It's Ivan. "You caught my little sunflower, I've trained you well."

His shadow falls over me and I see him scratch the animal behind the ears. Immediately the dog becomes no more harmless than a puppy in its masters presence. "You, however, have not been good at all, sunflower, not good at all. I'm afraid I will have to teach you your place…again."

I wince at the last word and scramble backwards on my hands only to run into the dogs mate, I think her name is Tooth, growling at me with her yellow eyes. She snaps at me and I have no choice but to crawl back towards Ivan.

He picks me up and throws me over his shoulder like a sack. I am obviously no physical strain to his huge form, so I don't even try to escape, merely face the fact that I'm stuck with him as he drags me back to his large stone and wood cabin that conceals itself behind the dense trees. Nightfall is approaching and the snow begins to fall in thicker sheets.

We enter the house and he takes me into his 'punishment' room, which consists of nothing but a bed and a rack of sadistic tools that consist of everything from pliers to whips to chains.

Throwing me down onto the bed, Ivan wastes no time shackling me down as he had done before. The first time I had refused his advances so he forced me into making love to him.

I shudder at the wait of the chains on my arms and legs, knowing that Ivans hands and gaze are much colder. I know not to speak as a tear trails down my cheek.  
"Sunflower, why do you have to run away all the time? You know it's only going to hurt."

Why did he call me 'sunflower?' As if using this trademark term of endearment would make me warm to his icy heart anymore. He had taken me away from my family, from my old life, I hated him.

"Fine. Be stubborn." He cracks his neck to the side and grabs his favorite knife. "That just makes it more enjoyable for me." His heartless grin makes me shiver as he reaches forwards and cuts my ragged clothing from my stick-like body. Tremors run through my body as the freezing Russian air leaves harsh kisses on my skin.

A sudden snap and his barbed whip digs into my skin to match the other scars that resemble teeth-marks. I scream, he laughs and whips me again. I try to count the lashes, but after the 10th I just close my eyes and try to block out the pain so I can lose consciousness and be done with the whole thing.

I am not so lucky. Ivan drops his whip on the floor and crawls next to me on the bed. He bears his teeth and pins me down. "I've been too easy on you, (name.)" He whispers huskily.

I hate the way he says my name. It's like the caress of a viper on my skin, maniacal and threatening.

He moves down to my chest. I reach my head back to avoid his gaze eyes closed. His cold tongue grazes the flesh and I then learn why Ivan owns wolves.  
Without warning, he sinks his teeth into my left breast.

I arch my back, shriek in pain and thrash against my restrains even though it is hopeless. Hot blood runs down my chest, which Ivan dips his fingers in and traces swirls across my cheeks.

"Red is such a pretty color on you. You should wear it more, da?" He phrases this in a way that I know this is not a question.

"No…Ivan…please." I pant in fear. My whispers are hoarse from screaming. "I won't run away again, I promise."

"I know you won't (name.) You've got no choice." He paints my blood across his lips and leans down to kiss me.

I've tasted myself before at Ivans hands. The sickly, coppery taste of blood makes me want to retch and convulse. This reaction, however, only makes Ivan more determined to do it. He puts more pressure against my lips and the blood begins to mix with the saliva in my mouth. I groan against Ivans lips, only wanting him to stop.

He breaks away from my lips and leans down to the part of my chest that is no missing a chunk of flesh. He kisses the wound, making my wince. More blood leaks out, he laps it up. "You're so warm," he sighs with pleasure as he nuzzles himself in the hot, ruby liquid.

I'm surprised how inactive Ivans hands have been. Only now do they start to run down along my other wounds; his long, cold fingers creeping from my neck past my waist and down to my womanhood.

He growls and shoves threes fingers into me; I cringe. It's like being injected with ice. His other hand pulls my torso towards him and he begins to gnaw on my collarbone like a wild dog does a bone.

I begin to whine in pain, knowing he's always rough like this on purpose. I wish he'd just kill me and put me out of my misery.

Removing his fingers, he stands up and begins to strip of his clothes, revealing his white, angelic body. Most women would be so entranced by this they wouldn't care if they were abused, but I know better. Beauty is broken, it's man kinds greatest weakness.

Besides, I find his face, which is now painted with my blood and his pale hair that's blossomed with flowers of red my more terrible and distracting. I spit at him.

He snarls deep in his throat and jumps on top of me. "You're my slave. I own you, don't ever think you can escape me (name.)" He sheathes his length in me, which in reaction to I begin to have a fit under him. He immobilizes me with his hands and harshly shoves himself into me, again and again. Working at the factory and being beaten by the foreman wasn't nearly as bad as this torture.

I feel him breathe harder as he reaches his climax. Being the weak, abused creature I am, I come first, screaming at the prospect of being violated again, tears sliding down my body to mingle with the blood in my wounds.

Ivan yells out something in Russian that I can't quite perceive. After pulling himself away from me he redresses and picks up another knife.

I tense in fear. My punishment is still not over.

"You promise you won't run away again, da?"

I nod feverishly. "Da."

"Good."

He makes a gentle incision in my arm, and while tears brim in my eyes, this cut doesn't hurt nearly enough to make me cry. He kisses the split skin and unlocks my chains. Without another word he leaves the room.

I look down at the newest wound he's inflicted upon my body. In my arm, a ragged 'I." I am his. The rest of my form is in worse shape. My left breast is now horribly disfigured from his teeth and his barbed lash has pierces multiple holes in my flesh. Blood runs from my lower entrance and down my legs like he's shoved a knife into me.

He might as well have.

The door opens again. It's Ivan, holding a bucket. He's grinning like a skull again. Whatever is going on in his head, it can't be good.

"Hold still." He says. I know I must obey.

He strolls behind me and presses something into my wounds. I gasp. It's snow from the blizzard outside. My burning cuts are screaming against the chill and I begin to shiver uncontrollably.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask through chattering teeth.

"Because, (name.) I'm jealous of you. Such warm blood runs through your veins. I have no choice but to do this until you freeze with me."


End file.
